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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868826">underneath the stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloffie/pseuds/aloffie'>aloffie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Dancing, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:27:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloffie/pseuds/aloffie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When George finds himself in a bind, his mother sends him to audition at the L'manburg Theater to audition for a spot in their next ballet showing. Joining the intriguing crew, George discovers a cast of admirable friends and a respectable company to be in.</p><p>And, unexpectedly, George meets a gorgeous, yet snarky, man, that he can't help but to chase after.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Karl Jacobs &amp; Sapnap, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>underneath the stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This entire fic is based on online personas. If anyone in this states they are uncomfortable with this sort of content it will be taken down immediately.</p><p>Inspired by the dance scene from "La La Land" and "City of Girls" by Elizabeth Gilbert.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George sat quietly on his balcony, taking in the sounds of the city below.</p><p>The chirps of birds. The sputtering of cars. The bustles of the crowds. </p><p>Despite its chaotic nature, George found listening to the city to be a calming activity. It took his mind off of his shortening funds and his barebones pantry. It took his mind off of the need to find a job. It took his mind off of the worries of finding a company to join.</p><p>Being a dancer wasn’t easy. But George wasn’t one to take to anything else.</p><p>Well it wasn’t exactly him that thought dancing wasn’t easy—He was more than confident in his skills—, but more so his parents and their aristocratic view of any occupation that didn’t require going to law school for eight years.</p><p>His mother was slightly supportive, trying her best to be cheerful about his simpleton future. His father, however, had wished for him to be a doctor or maybe even a prestigious politician—obviously, neither of which happened. Together, his parents spoke with undertones of disappointment to him, questioning as to where they went wrong in their scarce parenting.</p><p>Even so, they’d let him do as he pleased, joining the productions he’d wanted and giving him sufficient funds to start his life anew. </p><p>At this point, however, George was jobless. The companies he’d joined and the connections he’d made all went up into flames one by one as critics shot them down.</p><p>This led him to where he was now, with his mother, in an act of desperation and worry, forcing him to audition as a part of an original production with a famed stage director that his family had connections to.</p><p>He couldn’t help but find the idea absurd, but who was he to complain? A job was a job, and at the very least his stomach would appreciate the money.</p><p>Taking another sigh into the thick air of New York City, George readied himself for auditions the next day.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On the outside, the building was a magnificent golden yellow, emulating the aspects of grandeur and affluence. A shiny, vertical board shouted to George the words, <em> L’manburg </em>.</p><p>George couldn’t help but be a little in awe. </p><p>Being no more than a new dancer on the world’s stage, it was inevitable that he wouldn’t have a penny to his name. Even so, he wanted it to be that way. He didn’t wish for fame or for money, but he wanted to build his career up, at the very least, by himself.</p><p>Being in such a theater as this, shining and glittering anew, wasn’t something he expected to earn so quickly off the bat. (And it wasn’t even something he had earned, for god’s sake. It was an opportunity grabbed solely by his mother’s phone book.)</p><p>He took a hesitant step in, eyes widening at the painfully loud echo of his footsteps in the marble lounge area. The area was empty, save for the velvet carpeting and furniture tactically scattered about. </p><p>Glancing upwards, George saw a man enter from the platform leading to the second floor. He began to make his way down, using one of the two marble staircases that arched downwards from the platform. The man was pretty ordinary looking: glasses, white button up, khaki slacks—The typical white-collar worker. </p><p>Tipping up his glasses occasionally, he hadn’t even seemed to take note of George, who was probably no more than a mere ant in the large room. </p><p>As subtly as possible, George cleared his throat, the reverb in the room helping him to get the man to take notice of him.</p><p>Startled but steadily, he said, “Oh, hello? How can I help you?”</p><p>“I’m George. George Davidson. I’m here-”</p><p>“You’re George!” He quickened his pace down the stairs, and he stuck out his hand, to which George firmly shook. “Oh, I’m glad to meet you.”</p><p>“Likewise.”</p><p>The man took a quick glance at his watch, before nodding towards one of the halls. “Come with me. You’ll be showing Wilbur what you’re made of.”</p><p>“Wilbur?”</p><p>He gave a slight laugh. “The director?”</p><p>George quickly scorned himself, wondering how it could’ve slipped his mind. That man was the reason he wasn’t going to be eating mere scraps from his cupboard that month. “Oh, sorry about that. Just took me a second.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, happens to the best of us,” the man said, leading him through mazes of hallways and through a door that said “Backstage”. </p><p>Walking in, it was bustling with people. Girls with tight buns and leotards walked around. People were lounging about, making chatter with others as they downed bottles of water. Cigarettes were lit, and the hazy wisps of smoke made their way around the area. The smell of sweat and wood wafted from the stage, thick and heavy.</p><p>George let himself take in the environment, his steps slowing as he did so.</p><p>“Come on now,” the man beckoned, “It’s good that you came right on time.”</p><p>Nodding as he followed, “Well, I’d hate to be late. Not quite the best thing for making first impressions.”</p><p>They continued, walking past duos and trios of people freshly through with their morning rehearsals. The smell of fresh paint and plastic filled his nose. George wanted to linger for a little longer, listening to the light sweeps of feet and heavy steps within passing studios.</p><p>“You like the theater?” The man said, noticing the way George kept leaning his body to look at the area, “We just got it redone recently.”</p><p>George gave a small nod as he watched the man peek into a room before shaking his head, leading George forward.</p><p>“I personally thought leather would’ve been better, for the furniture that is,” he craned his neck into another studio, “But Wilbur insisted on velvet, so here we are. It’s not too bad if I’m being honest at this point.”</p><p>Nodding, George just listens.</p><p>"Ah, and the walls. It used to be this old, peeling shade of yellow. Luckily, we got to paint those too with the funds that came in recently," the man peeked into another studio, and continued onwards. "Quackity was always complaining about sweeping up cracked paint."</p><p>George could only wonder, <em>Quackity?,</em> as he poked himself into the window after the man, barely catching a glimpse inside. A familiar tune played, muffled by the door, as a woman practiced on her own.</p><p>“That’s Niki,” He said as he led George farther down the corridor, “She’s absolutely amazing. Everyone here is.”</p><p>There’s a smile on his face as he says it, and George gives into the intrigue forming in his head. He wonders what the rest of the cast might be like.</p><p>The two of them continued, halls seeming to turn and twist for ages on end. The man finally comes to a halting stop, having to bring his body back after nearly walking past a particular studio.</p><p>Quickly, George asks, “Say, what is your name?”</p><p>“Oh muffin, what are my manners?” He shook his head and promptly turned around. “My name is Bad.”</p><p>Besides being confused at the use of a pastry instead of a curse, George smiled at the introduction, “It’s nice to meet you Bad.”</p><p>“Likewise!” Bad smiled back and gestured at the door they’d stopped at. “Wilbur is in here. I’m not too sure about auditions, but you should have the details, right?”</p><p>George nodded, quite ready to meet this Wilbur Soot.</p><p>“Alright then! Changing room B is down the hall to the right,” Bad pointed off to a marked room not too far from the door they were stopped at.</p><p>Nodding again, George took a small inhale as he readied himself mentally.</p><p>Bad quickly glanced at his watch, and shot George a small apologetic look. “I do have to get going. But it was nice meeting you.”</p><p>“You too.”</p><p>Waving off, he said, “Best of luck George!” </p><p>Watching Bad quickly turn and jog his way down the corridor, George did the same and made for the changing room. Quick to switch clothes, he went back to the studio room, not wanting to keep this director waiting any longer. A hesitating move later, he pushed open the door with a faint creak.</p><p>Walking in, Wilbur Soot was. . . not what he expected.</p><p>Whenever George thought of people who had connections with his parents, he’d think of old, stout people. There was an image of people that looked like they were on their last legs, or, at the very least, people who looked like a twelve year-old white schnauzer given human form.</p><p>Instead, Wilbur Soot was a youthful man, only older than George by a few years at best. He wore a simple white button up and black slacks, sitting casually at the bench that was against the mirror in the studio.</p><p>“Hello,” Wilbur said, politely getting up and shaking George’s hand, “George, I presume?”</p><p>“That’s me.”</p><p>“Great,” Wilbur clapped his hands together. “You know the chosen piece? I hope you do because it would be a shame if you didn’t.”</p><p>“Oh no, I do. Don’t worry,” George lightly laughed, easing his nerves.</p><p>“Take some time to warm up. I’ll wait for whenever you’re ready.”</p><p>Ten minutes passed and George stretched himself once more before saying, “I think I’m ready.”</p><p>“Great,” Wilbur began to walk out.</p><p>George glanced back at the studio, “Wait, where are we going?”</p><p>Wilbur gave a chuckle, motioning for him to follow, “Why, the stage of course!”</p><p>They navigated through twists and turns, George feeling just as lost as when he first came.</p><p>“If you don’t mind me asking,”  George walked after him, “why not the studio? Seems like a hassle to walk all this way.”</p><p>Wilbur hummed in thought, rolling his sleeves up to reveal a golden watch that catches George's eye. “I find that being on stage best tells me about you,” he smiled as they swerved through groups of people.</p><p>It doesn’t really answer his question, but George doesn’t ask again.</p><p>They finally got back to the stage, the walk ending up to seem shorter than before. Gesturing towards the wings of the curtains and out on the lit stage, Wilbur let George walk out.</p><p>“Give me a second, will you?” asked Wilbur, and disappeared behind a moving wall.</p><p>George went out onto the stage, the wood sturdy under his shoes. He waited for a cue of some sort, listening for ambient noises that echoed in the looming theater. Looking around, he managed to spot Wilbur in the seats, giving a small wave to George.</p><p>Wilbur shouted, “Whenever you’re ready!”</p><p>A pianist at the foot of the stage looked at George, waiting for a sign.</p><p>Taking in a breath, George positioned himself correctly. He blinked a few times, the golden lights slightly blinding in their luminescence. Then, he gave a nod at the pianist.</p><p>The first note plays, and George sets himself into motion.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>A lot of people have different experiences when it comes to dancing. Some say it’s like moving through thick molasses, with their mind almost slowing to stop and being able to see every speck of dust around them. Some say it’s as normal as walking, the feeling coming to them naturally as they physically replay their hours of practice.</p><p>For George, it goes by in the blink of an eye. By the end of it, he can only recall the faint sensations of being in the open.</p><p>The whisk of air moving against his hand. The sweeping of his feet on the cold floor. The weight in his legs as he arcs them upwards. The pull of his muscles as he pushes his body to its limits.</p><p>It’s a vulnerable experience that George wishes could last a little longer.</p><p>His mind vaguely notes mistaken steps and praises unerring strides as he recites the choreography he's soaked into his memory.</p><p>When George stills and the music ends,  his mind is hazy in sweat and heated breaths; It feels as if he’s experienced a dream. An echoing set of claps pull him back.</p><p>“Brilliant!” Wilbur says, standing in the seats. He’s barely illuminated, the faint glow of stage lights just narrowly missing him. There’s applause coming from other parts of the room, the shadows of others in the seats only slightly showing themselves, but George can't find the will to see them any better.</p><p>He doesn’t realize how out of breath he is until he speaks. “Thank you,” He manages out, a small smile appearing on his face.</p><p>About two hours later, George finds himself in the same changing room as before, slipping on his shoes and stuffing his things into his bag.</p><p>Wilbur openly accepted him into the cast with open arms, stating that he could start rehearsals as soon as the next day. He felt himself smiling, maybe a little proud of himself for getting in.</p><p>Okay, maybe <em> a lot</em> proud. But, he wasn’t going to say it out loud.</p><p>Perhaps George could be grateful for his mother’s phone book. Just this once.</p><p>As he shuffled around, he felt a small tap on his shoulder. George turned his head to see a man with golden brown hair and a black leotard leaning over him. He was slightly recognizable. George could barely recall who he was, having only caught a vague glimpse of him in one of the studios he’d passed earlier.</p><p>“You’re not going home?” George asked. It was late and most everyone was gone. He might as well ask.</p><p>“Maybe later,” He said, swinging a set of keys around his index finger, “I live close by, so it’s fine.”</p><p>“That must be convenient. Living so close to where you work.”</p><p>The man hummed in agreement, before slipping around to look at George directly. “That was quite the commotion you made back there. It’s not too often we meet new people.”</p><p>Sitting a little straighter, he slowed down as he put his things in his bag, “Did I?”</p><p>“Sure did.”</p><p>There was a look in his eyes. It was piercing and questioning, yet it drew George in ever so slightly.</p><p>Taking another look at the man before him, he stuck his hand out. “I’m George.”</p><p>“Dream,” He said, respectfully shaking it.</p><p>“It was nice meeting you,” George smiled as he stood up.</p><p>“You too. Congratulations on getting in,” There was a smile that told of nothing but mischief. "Wilbur doesn't normally take well to newcomers this much, so you're one of the first."</p><p>Just like that, Dream had slipped out of the room, disappearing just as quickly as he had come and adding nothing more to his words. George felt a grin slip on his face and made his way home, his head filled with intrigue, mind filled with questions, and chest filled with pride.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A week into rehearsals, George found him pulled into the intoxicating atmosphere that was, the L‘manburg Theater.</p><p>It was easy to get swept up into the pulling air of the company. The building itself was a sight to behold, and George found himself careful within it. Inside of it, plenty of people were unique, each catching him on their special quirks.</p><p>For example, there was Tommy, an aspiring teenage ballet dancer. He was rowdy and disturbing off-stage, having the energy of someone ten years younger than he. Good lord, George swears that Tommy’s unsolicited screams could break the sound barrier. It didn’t help that the child cussed like that of a sailor.</p><p>Along with him, there was Tubbo, another teenager amongst the cast. Rather reserved and quiet compared to Tommy, he was friendly with everyone, even offering George a tour backstage. He had a calming and positive presence, having the nice optimism of someone youthful. However, he was another person altogether with Tommy.</p><p>Combined, they were tornadoes of chaos that swept throughout the theater, disturbing any calm that one would hoped to have had.</p><p>However, when they stepped on stage, they were silent. Like covering a raging spark with a blanket, the two always managed to slip on a mask once they danced. The control and synchronization they both had was something that George could’ve only wished to achieve at their age. </p><p>Tommy and Tubbo's chaos and skill were a strange balance that intrigued George.</p><p>Other dancers managed to reel George in as well. Niki’s graceful Attitudes were a sight to behold. Callahan’s calculated precision never came to disappoint.</p><p>There were plenty of others, each one captivating in their own ways.</p><p>There was a person named Eret who worked costume design, having created the outfits for the cast members. George was pleasantly surprised at the flexibility of the material, and his willingness to accept criticisms. Multiple times he was incredibly convenient, willing to help fix George's long worn-down leotards the moment they broke unexpectedly.</p><p>A man named Schlatt sat and worked backstage. (Ironically, George hadn’t caught the man working once.) He gave cryptic one-liners and was always caught having a smoke near the curtains. However, on rare moments, he could be found laughing with Wilbur—the only other emotion that was ever caught besides him sitting stone-faced.</p><p>Even if George hardly made conversation with any of these people, he found himself comfortable with them. Most, if not all of them, made him feel welcome. </p><p>And then there was Dream, an outlier amongst outliers. An abnormality of sorts.</p><p>He’d caught glances of him during rehearsals, his height and face easily distinguishable. They had imprinted themselves onto George’s mind without him realizing it.</p><p>Along with that, he was <em> something. </em>Something being an understatement.</p><p>The first time George watched Dream dance, it was quite literally <em> dream</em>-like. His body movements were smooth and pulling. At a moment's glance, he could look like he was being tugged by the tips of his hairs, and the next he could look like he was walking on thin air.</p><p>The man was glamour and grace personified.</p><p>Every day, George tried to find the time to slip by and watch, even if it was just for a second’s glance. Finishing his morning rehearsals for the waltz scene, he’d go to the water fountain in the hallway for a drink. Passing by to get there was, very coincidentally, the studio room that Dream was in. George always found the door open, and he’d always peek around the doorframe as discreetly as possible.</p><p>Today, Dream was already half-way through the routine when George came to. George stood and watched from the entrance, like the days before, his eyes glued to Dream.</p><p>Music crackled out from the record player, still retaining the basic melody as bits in the music cut out.</p><p>Dream leapt across the floor, landing softly before pulling himself back up straight. George laid out the map of movements he’d formed inside his head—ultimately formed through the accumulation of his time spent watching Dream at unscheduled intervals.</p><p>Next, he’d do Pirouette à la seconde.</p><p>George watched as his head whipped around, once, twice, thrice.</p><p>Truly, watching Dream made an onlooker feel as if they were transparent. Reduced to nothing in the presence of his own world.</p><p>And then. . . his eyes landed on George.</p><p>Without stopping, Dream continued on with his practice, but George was quick to get back to his studio room. He felt like a guilty child who’d been caught stealing cookies out of the pantry. Except, he wasn’t a child, and the only thing he was stealing was mere glances at a man he had barely spoken to.</p><p>He left rehearsals that night a little more hastily than the other days. </p><p>Dream didn’t mention anything about it the next day.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Just as the leaves started to change colors, George found himself familiar with the theater and those who inhabited it.</p><p>No longer did George stare starstruck and in awe of the presence that was L’manburg theater. It was now a regular part of his day to be within and a part of the grandeur, with the more humble parts of it slowly revealing themselves to George.</p><p>The creaky floorboards of Studio C were always something he forgot to mention to Wilbur. No one came to the basement studio during rehearsals. He’d managed to map out the halls of the theater, it quickly becoming as familiar as the back of his hand. George had also discovered that the rooftop of the building was one of the most beautiful places to watch a sunset at, mainly after being dragged up there by two people named Karl and Sapnap.</p><p>Both of them worked set design and managed as L’manburg Theater’s backstage crew, along with someone else named Quackity. The three of them were almost never found separated wherever they went, almost as if they were bonded together by linking their bodies together with glue. (The Trio of Idiots was what Tommy called them, even if he was the last person in the entirety of the company who could call them that.)</p><p>Without noticing it, George had easily become familiar with the three as he was pulled along in their mischief around the theater. He wouldn’t deny that it was kind of thrilling being around them, playing stunts that he’d never dare to do alone. Other times, George would spend his lunch breaks with Alyssa and Callahan, the two being rather calming amidst the rest of the cast.</p><p>Even if he’d had surface level conversations with most others, he could recognize all of the faces he’d passed by each day, one by one. </p><p>Additionally, he found himself watching people more, soaking in what he could learn, from each step of their feet and each wave of their arms, like a sponge in an ocean.</p><p>There was so much to learn and only so little of him.</p><p>He’d spend early mornings and late nights at the theater, occupying the quietest studios and repeating what he’d seen.</p><p>Along with being accustomed to the environment that was the theater, he’d become more used to a <em> certain </em> enigma.</p><p>A certain captivating, human enigma, to be exact.</p><p>They’d begun to talk more, short conversations under millions of possible pretenses.</p><p>It was a strange little game they played that George felt as if he had been miraculously swept up in.</p><p>Funny little shoulder brushes in the hall. Telling glances across the room. Breathy chuckles nearby.</p><p>They’d all formed a strange, vague book of sensations within his mind.</p><p>Without even knowing it, George had become invested in the mystery that was Dream.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He gently took off his left ballet shoe, red marks left where the rim dug into his skin. George sighed at the relief, giving his foot some time to breathe.</p><p>“Tell me about yourself,” Dream said, almost cat-like in the way he leaned against the wall.</p><p>“There isn’t much to know.”</p><p>“I’ll be the judge of that.”</p><p>“And what does that mean?” George slipped off his right shoe.</p><p>There’s a breath in his left ear that sends shivers down his spine. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”</p><p>He whips his head around, narrowly missing Dream disappear into the corridor. George holds himself back, biting back the will to chase after the intrigue that came with Dream.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was on one particularly warm night that something peculiar happened.</p><p>George was, as per usual, one of the last to leave, spending his time down to the last second in the farthest studio until Wilbur finally hurried him out.</p><p>When he’d left the building, it had just struck midnight, leaving George to deal with the small pecks of guilt at having to make Wilbur stay so late. Following close after him, however, was Dream, who’d quickly changed and stayed right on his tail as they left L’manburg Theater.</p><p>George doesn’t say a word about it.</p><p>And around them, it’s quiet. Most in the area are gone or asleep, the neighborhood reduced to nothing but quiet cricket chirps. As they continued down quiet streets, the mildewy air phased around them, water droplets collecting on George’s hairs. To their right, a wall of buildings and apartments stood silently still, their residents fast asleep at this time of day. To their left, a hill sloped down beneath them, leaving an open view of the ocean, lapping in waves as the breeze carried it.</p><p>A full moon was perched within the empty expanse of the dark sky, a faint glow coming from its edges.</p><p>It’s almost another minute of a walk before George can’t help but comment on Dream, a pestering presence in what would rather be a peaceful night.</p><p>“Why are you following me?” Keeping straight ahead, George doesn’t turn to look at Dream’s face. He doesn’t want to.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“To be fair, it’s quite weird. There’s no reason for you to follow me.”</p><p>“I can’t help it,” Dream laughs, “I find you fascinating.”</p><p>Feeling a heat wash over his face, George purses his lips.</p><p>“You are,” He turns to find himself face-to-face with Dream, and he loses his bite, “. . . insufferable.”</p><p>“Now am I?” Dream asks, a grin on his lips as he lets his hands rest on George’s waist.</p><p>Pushing his arms off, George walked away, gripping the strap of his bag as a distractor. His scoff is breathy as he rolled his eyes, hopeful in his attempt to look anywhere but at Dream.</p><p>Hearing the light tap of shoes chase behind him, George slowed to a stop.</p><p>“Come on now, George. The moon is beautiful tonight,” said Dream, appearing at his side.</p><p>George only watched Dream as he gracefully strode to a streetlight, jumping up and swinging himself around it. He hung playfully from the pole with one arm and stretched the other out to George. </p><p>“Dance with me,” Dream said, a goading smile stretching across his face.</p><p>And George stood, and he stared.</p><p>Maybe it was the lighting, the moon a perfect spotlight behind Dream. Maybe it was Dream’s goddamning smile, a look that wasn’t worth any less than a million dollars. Maybe it was his nerves, each sparking under his skin at the need to dance until dawn broke before him. </p><p>No matter the reason, who was George to decline?</p><p>George walked over, his movements pensive and hesitant. Stepping onto the elevation of the street light, he took Dream’s hand.</p><p>Suddenly, he was spun into Dream’s body, his arms in a calculated tangle among his torso. Then, just as quickly, he was let go into the cold air once again. Jumping down and steadying himself, he saw Dream leap down from the platform of the light pole. </p><p>Looking at George, Dream’s gaze was piercing, making him feel transparent under his eyes. Clicking his shoes against the floor, Dream held his gaze on George.</p><p>George echoed the movement back, the heels of his feet tapping rhythmically.</p><p>They truly locked eyes, and a wordless conversation was thrown between them. Lips quietly parting, George positioned himself and let himself glide across the concrete behind him, performing a tour jete in the air. </p><p>Dream followed, landing close by. </p><p>Eyes giving telling glances, he gave a smirk and waltzed away, throwing a challenging look over his shoulder. George couldn’t help but to chase after him.</p><p>In an instant, the two fell into step as they pushed back and forth, syncing with each other wordlessly. Arms traveled in graceful arcs as their legs stretched upwards towards the sky. They tiptoed around one another, swaying forth as they let their bodies flow with the other. Occasionally, they would graze each other as they passed—skin on skin, heat on heat. The buzzing sensation was nothing like George had felt before.</p><p>George didn’t know when he tossed off his bag. George didn’t know when he’d loosened the buttons on his shirt. </p><p>He definitely didn’t know when was the last time he’d had this much fun—felt this <em> exhilarated. </em></p><p>Every single move Dream made ignited a fire in his body as he mirrored his movements. Every turn and pirouette inspired him to move forward just the same. Every smile sneakily tugged at the corners of George's lips.</p><p>They finally let go of the timeless state they were in when Dream had barrel leapt and just barely landed, kneeling to the floor as his legs finally gave out. George had done the same, letting himself fall safely to the ground. He rolled onto his back and gave a breathy laugh as Dream did the same.</p><p>All over George was sweaty, his hair in wet, tangled strings across his forehead. He was heaving out breaths as he let cold air run across his skin. His cheeks were burning hot, the feeling wavering throughout his body.</p><p>Almost in an instant, they’d ended their show, no one as an audience except for one another.</p><p>Even so, he smiled as he stared at the open sky above them.</p><p>Neither of them spoke a word, allowing heavy pants and breaths to fill the air.</p><p>Out of the two of them, Dream was the first to stand back up.</p><p>He held a hand out to George, who accepted it gratefully as he was pulled up. Standing up and brushing off his pants, George felt his throat go dry as he looked Dream in the face.</p><p>Face still flushed and sweat still dripping down his face, the sight would’ve made anyone stop in their tracks. Standing there dumbstruck, George could only watch as Dream picked up his hand gingerly and pressed a kiss into it.</p><p>His lips were soft against his knuckles, teasing in its press.</p><p>Dream looked up, and then he pulled away. He gave a smile, an ever so vague smile that could have meant anything and everything.</p><p>George had no time to decipher it, and he could only watch Dream’s back as he disappeared into the streets, out of sight. </p><p>Ten minutes later, George finally was able to move, breaking free of the spell Dream had somehow placed on him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Would you like to go out for drinks?”</p><p>George raised his eyebrow at that. “Is this some kind of scam? A bribe?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Dream says, a twinge of offendedness in his tone, “It’s just something I’m putting out there.”</p><p>They toss on scarves and hats, ready to brave the cold, New York City air outside.</p><p>“I <em> suppose </em>I could go,” George teases, slipping on his winter coat.</p><p>“I’ll be taking that as a yes if you don’t say otherwise.”</p><p>George huffs, “It is.”</p><p>“Good,” Dream smiles, and it’s like that of a Cheshire cat. “We’ll be heading to my place.”</p><p>“Why’s that?” </p><p>Dream holds the theater door open for George, who nods in thanks. “I have some. That is, unless you want to pay for your own drinks at a bar? There aren’t any good ones within walking distance though.”</p><p>George’s pocket book laughed at his consideration. “Your place it is then.”</p><p>“Good choice.”</p><p>It’s cold when they walk to Dream’s apartment, the cold wind nipping at George wherever he wasn’t bundled in fabric. Eventually after climbing up flights of stairs and getting into Dream’s apartment, he was extremely grateful at the warmth he was greeted with.</p><p>Looking around, George wasn’t surprised, but he wasn’t expecting to either. The apartment was messy, the floor having disappeared under layers and layers of clothing. With barely a space to sit, Dream kicked aside some laundry—a towel, crumpled pants, and a green shirt that probably hadn’t seen the light of day in who knows how long—off of the sofa and set down two bottles of champagne. </p><p>Afterwards, the last George remembered was clinking glasses and the bubbly sensation of laughing. Strange glimpses of past words and memories he’d exchanged with Dream were mere wisps on his lips.</p><p>The next morning, George came to with Dream’s body draped across his on the sofa.</p><p>Neither of them spoke of it when they awoke.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They’d begun to go to Dream’s apartment more often.</p><p>It had become routine to where there was nothing that needed to be said. With a simple glance, they’d leave the theater together, and they would awake in the morning, entangled in a different position than the night before.</p><p>George appreciated it, in part because of two things:</p><p>First, his own house definitely wasn’t somewhere he’d want to walk home in the cold of the city. Even in a sea of scarves and socks, the wind always managed to bite at him.</p><p>Second, he’d come to discover even more about Dream than he would’ve otherwise.</p><p>It turns out that Dream wasn’t any more normal than George thought he was. Even so, for every small thing George learned, he wanted to discover ten-fold of that.</p><p>On the nights that George managed to keep a firm grip on his consciousness, he’d picked up bits and pieces of their conversations and stubbornly wedged them into his memory.</p><p>Turns out, there was a lot that Dream liked: cats, the rain, the Oxford comma, multitudes of complex books written by dead white men that George couldn’t be bothered to remember, writing and poetry, and many other things that George could list on for forever.</p><p>In return, George supposed that he exchanged some facts about himself. However, he never really remembered anything he said about himself, and thus it always startled him whenever Dream mentioned something about him.</p><p>In addition to learning these things, George was almost ecstatic to find out that he and Dream were considered friends, or at least within that slim definition.</p><p>Each morning he awoke, George would find himself curled into the couch, watching as Dream served both of them a cup of coffee for that slow morning. The window that was conveniently placed in front of the coffee maker let the sun in at a godly angle, and gave Dream something for George to think about.</p><p>Curly, tousled hair shining in gold. The light outline of shoulder blades. Barely opened eyes, semi-blinded by the sun outside.</p><p>George was glad that it was one of the first things he could see each morning.</p><p>He’d take the cup graciously, and they’d sit there. Sometimes they would ponder about things that wouldn’t have mattered otherwise. Sometimes nothing would be said, and a mutual silence would rest between them.</p><p>George didn’t mind either way.</p><p>He found Dream absolutely riveting, whether he was dancing or asleep or talking about last night's dinner. Every move he made entranced him, and George wouldn’t have it any other way. George could stare at Dream for hours on end, no more boring than watching paint dry, and he would still feel his hairs stand at his every move.</p><p>And sometimes, just sometimes, he’d catch Dream staring back at him.</p><p>Together, they’d head to the L’manburg Theater<em>, </em>ready to push themselves to their absolute limits.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The day of their first showing was absolutely chaotic.</p><p>There was no time for nerves, and what was left of them were quickly beaten off with others’ encouraging words. Pins and shoes were flung about as dancers got ready, leaving the floor messy as the frantic backstage crew rushed around, trying to keep some vague semblance of cleanliness and order.</p><p>People were running and scurrying about backstage, and then suddenly it was time to begin.</p><p>All of a sudden, George was flung onto the stage with everyone else and it was all a blur from there. Just barely, could George remember to take a breath as they switched from act to act, music swinging up and down as they progressed through the story. Soft whispers of flutes and the thundering bangs of drums slipped in and out of his ears as he swayed himself with the music and those on stage.</p><p>When he had the time to stand still, he would only let his mind wander to that of his friends on stage, admiring their hard work come to fruition as they played their parts.</p><p>As he would watch, George could only think back to what Bad said on the first day: They really were all amazing.</p><p>Then, he’d snap himself back into place and go forth, not a flinch of hesitation to be seen, carrying himself with dignity and pride just as everyone else was.</p><p>When he went off stage, he hurried to his next place, careful not to blow past the backdrop. He’d let himself still for only a moment in the wings, and then he’d go out again, legs crossing with his knees bent, putting on another dance for the audience once again. </p><p>Even when the intermission came through, it hardly felt like that of a break. Almost in an instant it was over, flashing right before his eyes, and they moved forward, ready to show themselves once more.</p><p>The stage lights were blinding, and his muscles felt as if they were burning. Music pounded in his ears as he pushed against the stage upwards. His own breath was loud, heaving air into his body and out.</p><p>It was so much.</p><p>Even so, George loved that very feeling. And when the applause came booming forth and George bowed down in front of the ecstatic audience, he relished it.</p><p>Beautiful roses and cheers and claps were showered generously upon the cast. </p><p>He bathed in their appraise—sweat and joy and pain and all.</p><p>They had to bow four times, almost dizzying as the claps came wave after wave.</p><p>Leaving to backstage, he swelled with pride. And once the doors closed and the theater was emptied, he finally burst out in laughter and everyone else did the same. Cheering and hollering at their success, they were all overjoyed with their performance together. </p><p>In another whirl of energy, they celebrated together. They drank together and conversed until their muscles gave out in exhaustion.</p><p>George could only remember dancing in a messy tango with Quackity before passing out, comfortably and quickly on a sofa in the dressing room backstage.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Blinking and hurting, George found himself in the same spot as the night before and with a rather unpleasant hangover. Around him, cast members were all scattered about: on chairs, on the carpet, on makeup desks, on sofas.</p><p>Quietly, he stumbled out of the theater in his regular clothes, grabbing his items and making his way home.</p><p>As soon as he got inside, George promptly removed the makeup on his face, swiping it off in hasty streaks. Once it was off, he allowed himself to sink into his bed, and drifted off to sleep once more.</p><p>When he got up again, five hours had passed without any notice. </p><p>Slowly drawing himself awake, he sleepily looked at his clock, which read 1:30 P.M.</p><p>Grabbing a glass of water, he downed it quickly and hobbled his way over to his balcony, lightly pushing open the door as the fresh air came to him. He practically forced himself outside, deeply inhaling the sights and the smells that were right outside his window. </p><p>It helped him to stabilize himself—wave off the fog that occupied his brain at certain times.</p><p>He sat there for a few more minutes before going back inside, the fresh air now having soaked into him and his muddy brain. Afterwards, he showered and changed, feeling refreshed and not-so disgusting anymore. Glancing at the clock once more, only an hour had passed by then, and George was restless.</p><p>He cleaned his house, which he now seldom came to on weekdays. He tidied up the piles of laundry which he’d accumulated out of laziness.</p><p>In a way, George supposed, his house had come to look like Dream’s.</p><p>Eventually, George finished cleaning his house, as there was only so much to clean in a finite space, and, after no more than a few minutes of contemplation, he grabbed his things and headed out the door, not sure as to where he was going.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>When he left the house, it was just to clear time. </p><p>Even so, he found himself at the doorstep of L‘manburg Theater. Without taking too much notice, George had wound up taking his daily commute to the place. The door creaked open lazily, and most of the lights were off. He hadn’t expected people to be inside, as most were only required to meet at 5 o’clock sharp to start for rehearsals that night.</p><p>George was almost startled to see Sapnap and Karl who were sweeping away at the area backstage.</p><p>Sapnap was the first to see him, setting down the broom, “Hey George!”</p><p>Karl was quick to look up, a smile lighting up his face. “George!” He rushed over, “What’re you doing here?”</p><p>“Probably looking for Dream,” Sapnap snickered, and George whacked him over the head.</p><p>“If you’re looking for people, most everyone went home right before noon. Rightfully so, too. You guys must be exhausted. Get some sleep in before tonight, okay?”</p><p>George just nodded. “I know, I know. I’m just feeling a little restless is all.”</p><p>Sapnap gave him a little eyebrow raise before George threatened to chase him around, sending Sapnap off giggling like a child.</p><p>Karl gave a hearty laugh before cupping George’s hands in his, long familiar with George’s early mornings and long nights spent at the theater. ”Yeah, of course. Just don’t use up all that energy before tonight, you hear me?”</p><p>Giving Karl a half smile, George waved goodbye and headed to the changing rooms. When he looked for an unlocked studio, he found two rooms empty and one with an open door.</p><p>In that room was Dream.</p><p>George leaned on the doorframe, watching Dream spin mesmerizing pirouettes in the middle of the floor. It only took a few minutes before Dream took notice of him.</p><p>“What’re you doing here?” his face was neutral. Maybe there was a flash of surprise underneath it.</p><p>“A little restless I suppose. Couldn’t find the will to stay home,” George shifted his weight off of the door frame, “I just needed to move around before we performed again tonight.”</p><p>Dream gave a nod and a hum in understanding.</p><p>George nodded at him with his chin, “And you?”</p><p>“I guess you could say it’s the same for me,” he shrugged.</p><p>“You go home for the night?”</p><p>“Nah. Fell asleep just like everyone else did, but I didn’t feel like going home.”</p><p>“Got enough sleep in?”</p><p>“You could say that.”</p><p>“Now, don’t pass out in the middle of that stage,” George huffed out.</p><p>Dream gave a smile, a confident one that said: <em> I would never. </em></p><p>George took a steadfast hold on that challenge, knowing full well Dream was someone that really would never do such a thing.</p><p>Like he said, Dream was an enigma of sorts.</p><p>A cocky one that you could miraculously count on, no less.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Another thunderous round of applause came from the audience, and George could swear it shook the whole theater.</p><p>Stepping off the stage and behind the curtains, he felt the same swell in his chest as the night before.</p><p>That feeling of accomplishment truly filled him with pride—Both for him and his friends.</p><p>They deserved that applause, and George was glad they got it.</p><p>He was met with the cheering crew in the lounge area backstage, everyone bursting at the seams at the positive feedback from the crowd. Sure, they were exhausted, but this was something they wanted to celebrate again. That night, however, George found himself holding back on the drinks.</p><p>In fact, he didn’t touch anything but water that night.</p><p>What drew his attention was Dream, sitting quietly in the back of the room.</p><p>Often, he’d find his eyes flicking over against his will, and he’d find Dream in the same spot, un-phased and unmoved.</p><p>It was after hearing Tommy sing another popular radio song—in a tone that was so horrendously off-key—that George tugged on Dream’s sleeve, whispering underneath the loud prattle of the room.</p><p>“Do you want to leave?”</p><p>Dream gave a small nod, and he followed after George.</p><p>Together, they excused themselves that night, promising to be back and ready for the next day.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“So, you got sick of Tommy’s singing too?”</p><p>George gave an exasperated sigh, “<em> Did </em> I? Good lord, my ear drums were about to burst right then and there. Who knew someone could be that awful at singing?”</p><p>“Trust me, you get used to it, after a few times of listening to him that is.”</p><p>“And how many times would that be?”</p><p>“Two years.”</p><p>Scoffing and giggling, George slipped on his bag. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive after listening to Tommy’s voice so much.”</p><p>“I wonder the same thing,” Dream holds the door open, and they exit out into the cold air, warm traces of spring finally starting to show themselves.</p><p>George begins walking with Dream towards his apartment, a familiar path after late nights walking to there and back.</p><p>No more than a few steps away from the theater, and a thought hits George. He hesitates, and Dream catches on.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>George pauses, but rolls of his tongue nonetheless:</p><p>“How about we go to my apartment instead?”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>The New York breeze hits them lightly on the rooftop. They’re up on the roof of George’s apartment, a flat, empty space that only George knows about. Below them, the city was coming to life as lights of gold and people of all kinds filled the streets.</p><p>George came up, holding bottles of water for the two of them. He found Dream leaning on the railing and overlooking the sights below.</p><p>“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” George asks.</p><p>Dream turns to look at him, a small smile on his face.</p><p>Looking at him, George almost forgets how to breathe. Dream's eyes were beautiful, reflecting the lights below and the stars above.</p><p>Dream nods in agreement and takes the water gratefully. </p><p>George can't find his voice, so he stands there. And so, they stood on the railing together, taking in the city around them.</p><p>“So, you like it up here?” </p><p>George nods. “It’s quiet. And it’s big too. Not too many now about up here, since they keep it locked off.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Mhm. I keep a radio over there,” George points to a corner with crates and a chair that he'd dragged up one boring afternoon months ago, “and I practice when I feel like it.”</p><p>Dream hums in consideration and settles his chin into his arms, folded on the cool metal of the railing.</p><p>Letting himself do the same, George focused on the crowds of people on the streets.</p><p>Brown hats, pretty curls, dark jackets, flashy dresses—He saw them all from his small nook above the city. It’s interesting to people-watch; It’s one of the things George finds the most interesting. In a city filled with people, of all things, one can only imagine the multitudes of strange things to see and find.</p><p>He sees Dream leave the edge out of the corner of his eye, and George lets his eyes follow him. Dream walks his way over to the radio, and he flits through channels, quiet buzzing and static coming in between different pitchy voices. George doesn't question him as he watches.</p><p>It's something one learns with Dream. </p><p>Not to ask, but to wait.</p><p>Finally, he landed on a song, which George recognized immediately—“Sentimental Me”.</p><p>It’s a cheesy song, and he can’t help but laugh as Dream swayed to a stop, right in the center of the floor.</p><p>“You’re kidding me,” laughed George.</p><p>Dream extended his hand. “Come on Georgie, dance with me,” he smiled.</p><p>George laughed, playfully strode over, and took it.</p><p>He let Dream take his hand and rest them out, palm in palm. George's other hand was put on his shoulder, and Dream’s was put on his waist.</p><p>They swayed back and forth, steps aligning perfectly. The melody played behind them, quietly crackling away as the music buzzed smoothly from the radio.</p><p>Eventually, Dream pulled and quickened their steps. As he did so, George understood almost immediately what he wanted to do—the waltz scene inside of the ballet for L’mangburg Theater.  Together they loosened their formation, and slotted against each other in a different way. George let himself go and out into the cool air, leaping away as he glided across the floor. Dream chased after him, and George caught a smile on his face. He swept George off the floor, gracefully, and placed him back down, posture not once breaking.</p><p>Together, they chased and chased and chased across the rough floor, the moon their only witness.</p><p>Until finally, they stopped, halting. </p><p>Heavy breaths filled the air. George was wordless as Dream pulled his face close, hand still on his waist from a second before.</p><p>Together, they stared at one another. Locking in place, George didn't let his gaze falter once.</p><p>Their eyes conversed what couldn’t be said, millions of thoughts passing back and forth in a mere second.</p><p>Dream nodded, eyes questioning.</p><p>Nodding back, George felt his body still.</p><p>Another nod.</p><p>Another glance.</p><p>Rushing forth, George closed the gap.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>For all the grandeur in the world, George wouldn’t sacrifice this. Laced in his fingers and cupped in his hands was all that he could ask for. He was burning all over, body subject to the actions that Dream showered upon him.</p><p>George wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>Across his neck, on his hands, against his lips, upon his cheekbones, Dream was <em> everywhere. </em></p><p>“You are absolutely gorgeous,” Dream breathed out, pulling away for air.</p><p>George blinked dizzily, latching onto him. “Am I?”</p><p>“Yes, you are,” He leaned in for a kiss, plucking one right off George, “The most magnificent that I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“S’that so?” He pressed their foreheads together, their skin hot and burning.</p><p>Dream hummed in affirmation, diving in once again. George can’t help but smile and giggle as they kissed, again, and again, and again.</p><p>“What’re you laughing for?” Dream asked, a smile on his face.</p><p>George lets out another laugh, and Dream follows right with him. It’s a golden laugh that rings in George’s ears, and, in that very moment, there wasn’t anything else in the world that sounded better to him.</p><p>Genuine and hearty, his giggles were more wheezes than anything, but George loved it. It was intoxicating.</p><p>He didn’t answer Dream’s question, and together they devolved into laughing fits. Dream grabbed him by his waist and spun him around, leaving George at the mercy of him.</p><p>Raised into the cool air, he let his hands settle on Dream’s shoulders as he was still lifted up, and laughed and laughed and laughed. Dream pulled him into his chest—with his feet still dangling off the ground—and kissed him again, feverish and loving.</p><p>Wrapped in his arms and against his chest, George was pressed against the most beautiful person in the entire universe.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next week went on without a hitch.</p><p>Every single time, the audience came back louder and wanting more. Reviews called upon showers of praise for L’manburg Theater. Without a doubt, money came to everyone involved, leaving George satisfied and happy, no longer having to worry about his limited food choices.</p><p>And above all, George was officially accepted into L’manburg Theater.</p><p>For the next few showings, or at least for how long he would stay, George would have a spot in them. No objections could be heard.</p><p>Oh, how lucky George felt! </p><p>He’d met people that he could learn from, a successful company that accepted him, and a man that he’d follow to the ends of the Earth.</p><p>In the endless bustle of New York City, George was finding all that he’d ever wanted.</p><p>And he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was completely for self satisfaction, and please excuse my dubious knowledge of ballet terms (you'd think after doing it for a couple of years you'd know a few, but nope)</p><p>also it's not beta read, so also excuse the millions of errors that are probably littered throughout this and my shitty ass pacing</p><p>either way, i hope you liked this fic!! ty for reading :)</p><p>any comments, criticisms, and questions are welcome! &lt;3</p><p>twt: <a href="https://twitter.com/alofffie">@alofffie</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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